j - hard core logo fic for Derek

Title: Never Did Find My Way Back
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Hard Core Logo.
Pairing(s)/character(s): Joe/Billy.
Notes: For apiphile. For being totally awesome? I don't really have a reason, it's just for you. I feel a bit like a cat bringing its person a dead bird. Set before Billy left. Sorry, vague timeline is noticeably vague. Not very betaed (thanks for the quick typo combing ret05), sorry for any fuck ups (which are entirely mine).

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11:30 p.m., Buttfucknowhere, USA.

On stage they had all ripped it up, but Billy had been something else. They were all drunk and loose as fuck, halfway through the tour and tour fucked, hanging precariously from moods held up or let down by too few hours sleep, too many come downs and too much piss. Billy had been somewhere else, only interacting with this world when he was trying to break something, spitting or swinging his guitar neck like a sword, rubbing on Joe like a cat then spinning away the second Joe had been able to take a hand off his guitar to reach for him, making Joe miss his next line for no reason at all, no little touch to make it look deliberate. Just left him hanging. He'd destroyed an amp, smacked into John so hard Joe could practically hear the fucking bruises, hear the screech of strings smacking together briefly, bass and guitar both spitting squealing feedback briefly, and when they'd finished up he'd left Pipe's drums scattered and dead across the tiny stage.

A fucking ridiculously amazing show. Fucking orgasmic. They're certainly not going to get payed half of what they'd been promised, there's too much damage to house equipment, and Billy is going to be such a pissy bitch about that later, even though it’s mostly his fault. Joe loves it. Loves this shit. Surveys the damage and breathes in the sweaty, beer-soaked, cheap-perfumed air.

Billy walks past with a beer in one hand, a shot of whisky in his other. Joe takes the whisky and the hand holding it, drags Billy through the backstage to the semi-dark of the emergency exit, stands them on the landing at the top of some cold grey concrete stairs. Everything is muffled and abruptly calm here.

"That's my fucking drink, Joe," Billy says, harsh in the quiet.

Joe takes the shot and smiles, letting his arm go limp, the glass drop and smash on the ground without taking his eyes of Billy's.

Billy rolls his eyes, but lets Joe shove him against the wall, his back hits with a soft bump and he lets out a quick breath, though Joe knows he hasn't pushed him hard enough to hurt, even with Billy's bones so close under his skin.

Billy gets a hand in Joe's hair and his lips on Joe's, and Joe thinks, fucking yes, one of those nights. Billy is a dirty fighter, more than half mean, and a consummate liar. Billy doesn't lie to Joe, though, so Joe lets the other two slide, even as he holds Billy against the wall, hoping, and then Billy sinks his teeth into Joe's lips and Billy's knee comes up, sharp and vicious towards Joe's groin.

Joe jerks away, hands going to his crotch, lip splitting in Billy's teeth, cut as he rips away violently.

"Fucking. Cunt." Joe spits red at Billy's feet. "What is wrong with you tonight?" Joe's not pissed off at Billy, cheap shot to the balls or not, he’d only grazed him anyway-- he lets it slide, because Billy isn't walking away.

Joe stands back, still a little hunched over protectively and looks up at Billy, not far enough away Billy thinks he's going anywhere. Billy smiles down at him with bloody teeth. Wipes his nose. Sniffs. It's dark in the stairwell, but Billy's eyes are still darker than they should be, less coldly blue.

Another thing about Billy is he was nearly as bad at sharing as Joe, only mostly not with the same things. Joe, for one, shares his coke when he's got it. At least with Billy.

"Billiam, Billiam, Billiam," Joe clicks his tongue softly, straightens up with a wince, steps closer to Billy again, close enough Billy could nail him in the nuts again, close enough to kiss, close enough he's nearly smearing his bloodied lip against Billy's clean pink ones as he speaks. Up close, the sharp contrast between the vast blackness of Billy's pupils and the bright blue of his iris ringed thinly around them is at once familiar and unearthly. It still flips his stomach, the anticipation and the visual together. "That's not buddies. Minus fifty thousand points for holding out on me."

"Damn, and I was winning too," Billy says deadpan and smiles serene.

Joe raises an eyebrow. Billy pushes a hand into his jeans, pulls out a little plastic vial, unscrews the top and taps the coke out on his hand. Offers it up to Joe, Billy's spilt a little too much, but Joe hasn't had anything for a while and he's not giving Billy the chance to rethink his offer, takes the hit off the back of Billy's hand.

"Don't think you're sucking anything else off me tonight," Billy laughs and Joe laughs too, because, if he actually cared right now at all, he'd tell Billy he was wrong.

Joe's still got his eyes closed, letting it sink in, feeling good, when Billy kisses him. Billy bites at Joe's lip, when Joe hisses at the stinging pain, not sure if he wants to jerk away or get closer, Billy does it again, traps Joe's injured lip between his teeth and tugs.

"We're having you checked for rabies," Joe says when Billy lets him get away, wiping his stinging lip, feeling the wetness smear across his hand and thin and drying tacky.

"I got it from you." Billy says, licks along his bottom lip that's already wet and red and shiny, like a tease, like a fucking dare to kiss him again, like 'you'll do it even though it'll hurt because you can't resist me, you'll do it because it hurts because you like it.'

Joe leans back in fast, kisses him hard, and it hurts his lips and Billy's stubble scrapes against his cheeks and Joe feels every contour and sharp point of Billy's teeth and tastes copper between them, can swear he feels Billy smirking against his mouth. Can't tell if he's opened his eyes yet because he's lost in Billy's mouth, lost in their rhythm, until Billy pulls away again, fast, and Joe reaches out and grabs the hair on the back of Billy's head, tight, tries to pull him back in because he needs the contact back, the wet kiss, needs to fuck Billy's mouth with his tongue and taste him again and just have him, right now.

The door squeaks as it swings and the noise from the bar rises and muffles, and Billy tugs his head back so hard he smacks into the wall behind him when Joe lets his hair go. Joe spins around and leans his back against the wall next to Billy, wants to close his eyes again as he watches three girls stumble shrilly through the door and stop as one swaying, beady bird eyed gaggle, a matching predatory gleem in their eyes-- "are ya'll from the band?" and she actually, honest to fuck, pops her gum.

Joe does close his eyes, because he can.

When he opens them, after what feels like a long time but evidently was just the coke talking, the leader of the flock is focussed on Billy, flipping her hair at him and smiling dirty. She looks cheap, but Joe knows Billy's a frugal man at heart, especially when they're touring. Billy cuts a sideways glance at Joe, looking smug and dangerous like he looked right before he'd kneed Joe, dangerous like he'd looked on stage. Oh, no, Joe thinks. Not tonight. Occasionally Joe let's Billy get away with the mean, with the bitch act, with the leaving Joe hanging. Occasionally he lets Billy think he's his own. Not when he's got a nose full of coke and a split lip he can still feel Billy's teeth on and a fucking hard on that could crack concrete.

"Nah, we just pack the gear for those handsome fuckers," Joe says.

Billy doesn't look at him at all.

"It's true, the pay's shit, but they're just so fucking sexy," Billy says, deadpan and pissed off, probably smiling, but Joe doesn't look to check, doesn’t need to. He's watching the light go out in the women's eyes, fading back to a dull drunk hooded look, shifting from fuck me to fuck off. They make their way down the stairs supporting each other as they stumble.

"You're such a fucking bitch, Joe." Billy is smiling, but it's not a very nice smile.

"Billiam. I'm just doing my bit to stop the spread of disease in this dangerous time. They looked like walking knob rot. I practically just saved your life."

The girls aren't actually gone, as Joe glances down the steps, they've turned around to stare daggers at him. He raises an eyebrow and barks at them like a dog.

"Fuck you!" one of them yells, as the door swings shut, and Joe just howls loud as he can, until he can't hear them yelling anymore, until he's coughing when there's no air left in his lungs and his throat is stinging from singing all night and having raw liquor poured down it.

Joe turns to Billy and lets his tongue loll out, pants at him, smiling dog stupid. Billy stares him down for a minute, then smiles, entirely unforgiving, not particularly amused. Shakes his head.

Joe spits red tinged phlegm and wonders if the blood's from his lip or his throat this time. "I need a cigarette," he coughs. "And a blowjob."

"Really?" Billy asks, still smiling. "Try not to put your back out."

And he ducks out from under Joe's arm and slams down the stairs, pitching his beer bottle back towards Joe without looking, the glass exploding on the steps, and bouncing harmlessly off the walls.

"Fucking fag drama queen!"

---

Joe appropriates a pack of cigarettes on the way back to the van, grabbing them off a table inside the bar and pocketing them with "hey, buddy! What the hell!" in his ears and a humourless smirk on his lips.

Billy's leaning against the van’s side, dark against the white paint, another shadow in the night. A black and white picture, until he raises his head and sucks on the cigarette between his lips, the cherry glowing in the darkness, lighting his features sharp and pretty. Billy flicks the butt into the gutter, it goes out in a puddle of something that's not water. It's the middle of a dusty-dry summer and Joe's heavy boots crunch on leaves, he feels himself sweating everywhere his jumper is still clinging together, and even though it's approaching more hole than material and he's got no shirt on underneath it's still nearly too much.

Joe steps up into Billy's space. He doesn't ask where Billy's been, can't smell anything on him but beer and cigarettes and sweat from the show, sweat from days on the road and nights they can't get a hotel because there's no money or it's gone up their noses or they felt like eating that week. Joe burries his face in Billy's neck and breathes in. Billy lets him, barely moving. No perfume, no sex. Billy pushes him away gently, and Joe takes a step back.

Billy's picked the smokes out of his pocket and pulls one out of the pack, puts it in his mouth. Puts the pack in his own too tight pocket, of course.

Joe lights it for him, with a smirk. "Anything else, your majesty?"

"Blow me," Billy says, plucking the smoke from his mouth and blowing a stream of smoke towards Joe. He's not smiling.

Joe drops to his knees fast enough it'll hurt tomorrow, not just his knees, maybe his pride a little too. Billy's jeans aren't anything like clean, liquor stained and tour dirty, and unlike Joe's jeans, Billy's started off tight enough that even the fact he's barely taken them off to sleep hasn't stretched them in any of the wrong places, Billy's dick might be hard, Joe can't even tell even by the outline of his cock against too tight jeans.

Joe opens Billy’s pants, pulls his jeans down his thighs as much as he can with Billy's legs spread. Billy's not wearing underwear-- he hasn't got any left, Pipe's revenge for Joe taking his stash of junk food and blaming it on Billy, which had been fair as Billy had helped eat it and it was his fucking munchies Joe was catering to-- and he's hard already. Joe leans close, pressing his cheek against Billy, can smell him, all summer tour and hot arousal. Joe reaches for him, strokes Billy's cock once, licks his lips. Billy reaches out with his hand that has the cigarette in it, he touches Joe's face, Joe can feel the heat from the cigarette tip slowly moving near his cheek, softly. Billy's hand is on his head, not tugging his hair, just scratching at the shaved sides, and like a fucking magnet, like he can't help himself, Billy's hand slides down Joe's cheek and his thumb rubs over his bottom lip. Billy's fingers find his lips and his ragged thumbnail scratches the broken skin on Joe's lip, presses in hard and fast and vicious. Joe hisses in a breath. It's Billy, it's never easy with Billy, can't be easy, and Joe's almost glad, because if this was easy, if this didn't hurt-- he'd be so gone now, so Billy's they'd be inseparable, they'd never come apart without bleeding out (as if it wasn't that way already. Two weeks of this tour left, then they won't be this, and Joe's not sure how he'll stitch himself back together, except to get them back here, back on the road as soon as he possibly can).

"You keep that up," Joe starts, then thinks, and what? 'I'm going to get a hard on every time I get a split lip'? "and I might accidentally slip," Joe snaps his teeth at Billy's fingers. Billy prods him in the lip and laughs.

Fucker, Joe thinks. "Fucker!" Joe says out loud, sitting back on his heels and puts a hand over his lip. "You want me to blow you or fucking what?"

Billy laughs, grabs his dick and strokes, dark eyes falling closed a little. "You want to fucking blow me or what?" He parrots, because he knows Joe isn't going anywhere and he's a fucking bitch and Joe wants his dick in his mouth so bad his mouth actually waters. Joe’s fingers curl over Billy's thighs, his fingertips curling inwards, pinky fingers brushing against Billy's balls. Billy holds his dick out, moving his hand just slightly, keeps his other hand on Joe's face, pressing his thumb down lightly on Joe’s lip as Joe takes the head into his mouth, wrapping his hands over Billy's, letting Billy set a rhythm, and the second Billy's hips jerk forward, fucking into Joe's mouth like he can't help himself, Joe feels his lip stinging a little-- and Joe lets his teeth scrape not so lightly along Billy's dick.

Billy jerks so hard he'd have split Joe's lip again if Joe hadn't know exactly when to dodge the knee coming up, and he nearly loses his dick with how fast Joe has to pull away, Joe can't control the laughter bubbling in his throat, snorting as he sits back on his heels. He can't bring himself to look at Billy's face, because he knows he won't be able to breathe through the hysterics. Joe knows how much Billy hates it, he can picture the bitch expression on his face.

"FUCKER!" Billy yells, and inside the van Pipe or John bangs hard against the metal wall.

“I told you so,” and Joe laughs harder, curling in on himself a little, through teary eyes he sees Billy's boots move, like he's actually going to go away, and oh no, no way, Joe shuts his mouth abruptly.

"No, hey, Billiam. Get the fuck back here."

"Fuck you, Joe," Billy says, hand on his dick protectively.

Joe shuffles forward a little and grabs Billy's dick, goes down as far as he can, lets it be wet and fast and hard, and Billy practically falls back against the van, back hitting with a hollow thud. Billy’s breathing is harsh in Joe’s ears, mingling with the dirty-messy-wet sounds, the hottest song on earth, making Joe’s dick twitch. Joe can feel the thump of a pulse on his stinging lip, can't tell if it’s his or Billy's. Feels spit or blood on his chin. Feels Billy's dick pushing into his mouth hard. Joe looks up, Billy's eyes are already so black they couldn't get blacker. He looks like he's going to come, and Joe closes his eyes and lets Billy push in except-- he stops. Billy grabs Joe's hair hard, pulls his head back and away, holds him back and jerks off over Joe's face. Bastard knows Joe hates it when he comes on his face. Joe vaguely regrets using his teeth, but probably not as much as Billy thinks he does. He hates it and still can't stop himself grinding his palm into his dick through is jeans, not getting his cock out though, won't give Billy the satisfaction, still curls his hand around his dick through his pants, just holding, barely moving. Watching Billy's hand on his dick, the hand holding his hair getting tighter, jerking him around a little and Billy's coming, beautiful and vicious in the dim light, his teeth clenched, his thighs flexing and stomach trembling, shiny with sweat, letting out a noise Joe hasn't got words for, a whimper that makes Joe's hand clench on his own dick even as he feels come streak his cheek. Billy comes on his chin and jumper, which is the worst because Billy fucking knows that Joe doesn't want to wash it if he can help it, the fucking thing doesn't need more of an excuse to come apart.

Joe jerks back as Billy's hand slips limply off his head, half petting, half gently slapping the stubbled side of his head. Billy's whole body is loose, he slumps back against the van, the first hint of a real smile on his face, nothing painful about it, no sharp edges. Billy's always been happiest when he gets his own, comfortable in his pleasure.

Joe's up on his feet. He fucking wants to come and he wants another bump and he wants to go to sleep and he wants this tour to never end and he wants Billy to want it too-- just to be here, perpetual road limbo, just writing and drinking and playing and fucking and having fun. Most of all, he wants to stop thinking.

"So, what're you gonna do about this?" Joe asks, crowding Billy against the van, fingers curling over Billy's limp shoulder, other hand curling around his own dick.

Post-coital cigarette in his mouth already, Billy looks Joe up and down, his eyes linger at Joe's hand on his cock. The cigarette lights his smile eerily, making it look sinister in its satisfaction, the dog that got the cat that got the cream. Joe moves closer despite the barrier of the cigarette burning between them, so close he can feel it. Billy blows smoke out of his nose and shifts the smoke from left to right in his mouth with his lips and tongue, a quick practiced flip. He grins around it as he hooks his fingers under Joe's waistband, sliding fingertips tightly down Joe's belly, pushing down into his pubic hair, shifting his jeans across his cock so Joe hisses in frustration, almost pain. Anyone else, Joe would have unzipped his own fucking jeans and grabbed their wrist, shoved their hand towards his dick-- anyone else and he wouldn't feel like he was going to come from just the sting of his split lip, the taste in his mouth, the shiver of guitar calluses and ragged chipped nails over his skin, and smoke blown stinging into his eyes.

Billy's fingers pop buttons and pull his fly teasingly slow, tugging him closer even as the cigarette is in the way of Joe getting his lips on Billy's. Billy's teasing him and saving his lips and Joe has never wanted to be saved less-- he wants to fuck Billy's mouth while he fucks his hand, and hears himself let out a whimper of sound that he'd intended to be a curse. Billy hasn’t even touched his dick.

Billy laughs, still getting his breath back, Joe focuses on the tiny hitch of Billy's own breath even as he blows more smoke in Joe's eyes like he didn't just come on Joe’s face a minute ago, like he's so fucking untouchable.

"Don't make me say it," Joe makes sure he voice doesn't waver.

"Hmm," Billy hums, wiggling his fingers against Joe's skin, squinting through curls of smoke and smiling with teeth around his cigarette.

"Fucking Christ, Billy, please."

Billy finally frees Joe from his jeans, wraps a hand around Joe's cock and for a second Joe thinks, fuck, that was worth it, he'd have crawled over broken fucking glass. Billy jerks him off lazily, slow enough Joe can feel the callused stutter of his hand, every languid stroke deliberate fucking torture. Joe is about to open his mouth and hope he can grind out hurry the fuck up, but Billy puts a hand softly on Joe's face. Just holds it there. Joe wants to, means to lean away, but finds he's already pushing into Billy's hand, pressing against his palm like a cat. He jerks forward, cock buried in Billy's other hand, tries to, can't not, push the pace faster without words, fucking Billy's hand. Billy's eyes are glittering this close, his breath all smoke and faintly beer. Billy moves his hand a little faster and Joe jerks forward, nearly getting burnt and smacking Billy's smoke from his mouth and he fucks forward into Billy's tight hand. Billy moves the hand on Joe's face, runs his fingers across Joe's mouth gently, so gently, his hand smothering and soft on Joe's injured lip, but just petting back and forth in time with jerking Joe off, fucking rhythm like a drug, blood throbbing through Joe's lip to his cock and grinding tiny grunts from Joe's throat without his goddamn fucking consent-- and that's it, suddenly, he has to come now.

"Move, fucking fuck--" it comes out muffled against sweating hot skin and for a moment, Billy doesn't. Just stops all together, hand over Joe's mouth and Joe's cock and Joe is seriously going to haul back and punch him in his pretty face as Billy spits the butt of his smoke from his mouth, takes his hand off Joe's cock, and spits into it. When he puts his hand back to Joe's dick, Joe doesn't even realise he's moved the hand off his lips until Billy's brushing a soft kiss against them, Joe startles, closed eyes coming open, but Billy's already gone, face buried in Joe's neck, breathing against Joe. Licking his neck as he speeds his hand, faster and wet-tight-warm-rough, curled around Joe's dick. Joe's eyes are closed again when Billy's lips are back on him, and he's too far gone to even move for a minute. Billy's not kissing him soft this time, and Joe pushes back into Billy, teeth and tongue and stinging copper taste and Joe's coming, all over Billy's jeans and hand and he can't breathe for a second, an eternity.

When he can open his eyes again, he just stands swaying for a minute, listens to his own harsh breath, feels his legs shake.

When he lifts his head, Billy’s already slipping away, wiping Joe's come off on his already dirty jeans.

Joe reaches for Billy's wrist, quick as he can, his heart beating faster rather than slowing.

"Where you going, Billy Tallent?" Joe asks, bearing his teeth and hoping for a smile.

"Like I'm going anywhere, Joe Dick."

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